


Hi Fun Kou Gai

by wyntera



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 06:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16341158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntera/pseuds/wyntera
Summary: Hi Fun Kou Gai: a righteous, miserable anger, a frustration and despair over a situation that seems terrible but cannot be changed.





	Hi Fun Kou Gai

The heavy wooden door slams open, a swirling gust of snow accompanying Hanzo and Genji as they stagger inside. Between them hangs McCree, his feet dragging the floor as he tries to stay upright, an arm over each brother’s shoulders. Wind blows in hard at their backs, scattering more ice into the one-room cabin.

Hanzo’s eyes dart around the room. A single bed, a barren fireplace, a sagging couch, and dusty cabinets are the only contents of this dilapidated old cabin. It will have to do. “Get the door,” Hanzo says, shifting his stance to take all of McCree’s weight when Genji moves to do so. A pained hiss escapes through McCree’s teeth at the jostling. “Easy!”

“I’m fine,” McCree wheezes. The obvious lie grates out like gravel. “Be right as rain in…in no time.”

The door closes with a hard thump and the loudness of the wind dies to a dull hum. Genji does not wait for prompting, rushing back to help move McCree toward the bed. “Who are you trying to convince? Because it is not working.”

Lowering McCree to the bed takes everyone working in tandem. McCree tries, anyway, but Hanzo notes that any time McCree bends his body an involuntary spasm forces him back to a ramrod-straight posture, the pain too much to bear. Even the sigh of relief he releases is hitched and short. “We need to assess his injuries,” Hanzo says, getting to work on the buckles of McCree’s chest plate. The clouds of his own breath puffing in front of his face remind him of the cold he has been ignoring. “Is there anything to burn? We need to get him warm.”

“On it.”

Worry bites at Hanzo as he works the chest plate off McCree’s torso. Normally the cowboy would be running his mouth, joking and teasing and flirting in turns or all three at once. He has seen McCree injured--bleeding profusely on one memorable occasion--and he never lost his good humor. This McCree lays silent except for the huff of air from his flared nostrils and the creak of the mattress beneath restless feet and gripping hands. Knowing that McCree is in real pain speeds Hanzo’s fingers over metal and leather, then the buttons of McCree’s shirt. Hanzo is still unprepared for what he sees parting the fabric. “Oh,” he breathes, the word falling out of him in shock.

The left side of McCree’s chest is one big bruise from collar to hip. A roadmap of burst blood vessels in crimson and fuschia converging on a purple stripe wrapping around his side that is nearly navy in the center. The colors are so violently vibrant that the rest of his skin looks pale by comparison.

McCree cranes his neck to look down at himself but for only a moment before collapsing back to the bed. “That explains that,” he wheezes. His metal hand comes up to graze the skin, just barely, before he jerks away. “Fucking hell.”

The clatter of Genji setting up the fireplace pauses. “Holy shit,” Genji says from over Hanzo’s shoulder. Hanzo hums in agreement. “That’s a broken rib.”

“At least,” Hanzo replies. “More than one.” Gently he brings a hand up to feel the edges of the area, moving inward, checking the bones. McCree shies away from the touch, and Hanzo puts his other on McCree’s shoulder to hold him still. “How is your breathing?”

“Hurts.” The muscles in McCree’s jaw flex hard from the light pressure of Hanzo’s hand, and he removes it so the man can speak. “Hurts breathing in. Hurts breathing out, too.”

“Try not to talk.” There are at least three broken ribs that Hanzo can feel for certain. He has a feeling that there are more that his fingers aren’t sensitive enough to notice. He checks McCree’s pulse at his throat--fast but not dangerous--and closes his shirt again to keep him warm. “Do you have any other injuries? Did you hit your head?” McCree shakes his head, but Hanzo feels through his hair to his scalp anyway. No bumps, no blood, just damp tangled hair that clings to his fingers when he pulls away. He checks McCree’s pupils while he’s at it, though he isn’t sure what to look for other than anything out of the ordinary. They appear normal, which is a relief; Hanzo is not sure what he would or could have done if McCree had a head injury. “Do not move, it will only make it worse.”

“Ain’t goin’ anywhere, cupcake,” McCree murmurs, closing his eyes and looking all the more miserable. “Could use a swig of water if you got it.”

Hanzo helps McCree incline his head just enough to get down a few gulps of water from Hanzo’s canteen, and even that much movement makes his eyes water with pain. When he lays back his exhales are wetter than Hanzo would like. “Rest for now. We will get a pickup here as soon as we can.”

A ghost of a smile crosses McCree’s features but he doesn’t open his eyes. “Glad I got you to take care of me.”

Hanzo returns the smile even if McCree cannot see it. His assurances feel inadequate. He squeezes McCree’s forearm, the only place that seems safe to touch at this point, and hopes it offers some comfort.

Genji manages to get a weak flame going in the fireplace with some dry wood stashed next to the door. It’s not much but enough to warm a single room. Hanzo can feel the heat beginning to build. Genji throws another log on the fire and looks up at him. “How is he?”

The room is not big enough for them to have a conversation in private, so Hanzo switches to Japanese. “Bad. We need to get him out of here. Now.”

Genji stands and turns his helmet toward McCree. “I sent an emergency signal after the crash but have not received a response. You?”

“No.”

“I need to set up an S.O.S. beacon, now that we are stationary. But it could be days before they get to us in these conditions.”

Hanzo glances back at McCree. His good arm is thrown over his face, eyes hidden in the crook of his elbow. “How do we do that?”

“I have one in my gear.” The piece of equipment he produces less than a foot long but Hanzo remembers from the demonstration he was shown that a simple button press will extend a powerful antenna. “There is a clearing up the hill. We just need to plant it so it stays pointing upward; Athena will do the rest.”

Genji is the one that goes, beacon in hand and internal heating systems at maximum setting. Hanzo huddles just outside the door and watches as the figure of his brother disappears into the ghostly white of falling snow. It is disconcerting, watching his form fade to nothing and knowing how easy it could be for someone to lose their way in the hundred or so meters Genji has to walk. Hanzo would not allow it if not for Genji’s cybernetics ensuring he finds his way back.

Alone in the loud nothingness of the storm with only the door at his back to ground him, Hanzo takes an unsteady breath. The mission had been going so well. Their intel was good, their luck better. Sneaking onto the Talon train had been a challenge but nothing they couldn’t handle. Their target, a high-ranking Talon agent with deep pockets, had been neutralized and they had even managed to find some documents alluding to future Talon activity. Each step of their plan had gone off without a hitch. They had even managed to have fun along the way, McCree smoothing out the sharp edges that occasionally cropped up between the reconciling brothers. All that was left was to hide safely in an unused cabin until the train arrived at its destination and sneak off again.

But Mother Nature cares not for the plans of men, for good or for ill.

Hanzo does not remember much of the derailment. The event itself is a blur in his mind. He has no doubt that if the train had been going at full speed they would all be dead. As it was, even Talon is not so arrogant to use a hypertrain at normal speeds in a blizzard. Their precautions weren’t enough. Maybe it was ice, or an avalanche; Hanzo doesn’t know. One moment they were smoothly gliding along, secure and planning their escape. McCree had made a joke and thrown an arm around Hanzo’s shoulder, and Hanzo had laughed, leaning into it. There had been a noise, and the train had shuddered, and McCree had gone to the door to investigate. The next thing Hanzo knew he was sprawled on the wall of one of the cabins with Genji over his legs. The fact that they only suffered minor cuts and bruises was nothing short of a miracle.

They found McCree at the end of the train car in a crumpled heap. Their best guess is that the flip of the car slammed him into the doorframe between cabins, but there was so much debris around him there was no way to know for sure. Lingering to ask questions was not an option. Rather than surviving a train crash only to be killed by the other survivors once they were found out, Hanzo and Genji had simply scooped McCree up and hustled into the thick pine forest.

Which lead them to here, and this completely unplanned-for predicament.

McCree’s injuries are startling and he curses the fact they have no healer with them. What he would give for Angela’s calm businesslike demeanor and caudecus technology. He would even settle for Lúcio’s sonic amplifier; the bass might leave Hanzo with a burgeoning headache but at least McCree’s torso would not look like a particularly violent sunset. 

A sudden gust has Hanzo folding his arms tighter around himself. Genji should have been back by now. He takes a few steps away from the cabin, eyes narrow slits against the ice in the air. Everything beyond the trees closest to the cabin is white with not even a hint of the forest or hill beyond. “Genji?” Hanzo calls. The words sound muffled even to his own ears. There’s no way they carry in this storm. The isolation of the location hits him hard in the gut. “Genji!?”

There is no answer, and it goes on long enough for his heart to ratchet up into his throat and for him to take ten strides into the knee-deep snow before he sees movement beyond the fog. The flood or relief at seeing Genji is its own special kind of warmth. As soon as his brother is in range Hanzo grabs him and pulls him in the rest of the way, even if the metal of Genji’s outer shell feels like a freezer. “Is it working?”

Genji nods as they all but fall back inside, kicking the door shut behind them. “Signal sent.” He knocks the accumulated ice off his shoulders, the heat from his core making the rest melt in rivulets down his sides. His mask pops off with an audible click and hiss. Other than a rosy-red nose, he looks no worse for wear. “There is no telling how long we will have to wait, though. Even with the signal, flying in this storm would be too dangerous.”

“McCree needs medical attention. Now,” Hanzo argues. They look over and see that McCree’s legs have shifted on the mattress but otherwise he has not moved an inch; a bad sign for a man notoriously stubborn about acknowledging his injuries. “He could have internal bleeding, or a punctured--”

“What would you have us do?” Genji asks. “We have no medical supplies. We are not doctors. We are a hundred miles from anything except Talon. You cannot expect Winston to send anyone and risk crashing in this weather.”

Hanzo huffs out an angry breath and glares at McCree, willing answers to come. Perhaps Genji is wrong about the signal. Maybe Winston will be able to send aid sooner. They can take care of McCree until help arrives. They have to. “Let us at least wrap his ribs. If they shift…” He grits his teeth. If they shift they could do untold damage to McCree’s organs, if they haven’t already.

In the cabinets they find a dozen blankets and sheets, one of which is sacrificed for the sake of medicine. They have to sit McCree up again and Hanzo holds him steady while Genji wraps the fabric round and round his torso. Around the edge of his hat McCree screams through clenched teeth, weak and desperate, the fingers of his good arm digging harsh into Hanzo’s forearm. By the time they finish he is shaking from a combination of pain and cold and they bundle him under as many blankets as they can. Even without the help of painkillers he is out in minutes, too exhausted to continue.

“It is a good thing,” Genji says at Hanzo’s side once McCree’s breathing evens out. “The more he sleeps through the next few days, the less he will suffer.”

Hanzo looks down at McCree and wishes he was so sure.

 

\---

 

The first night, Hanzo worries but is able to sleep.

Despite his lack of serious injuries, he was in a trainwreck himself. Adrenaline can only push a man so far. He and Genji take shifts to make sure the fire stays burning, and while Hanzo wakes in fits and starts, he does get a few hours here and there. When he does sleep, his dreams are dark and confusing and leave only a lingering sense of unease upon waking. If he were back in Gibraltar he would drown the feeling in sake and whiskey with his favorite drinking partner. When he mentions to McCree that they will have some catching up to do when they get back, McCree gives a weak chuckle and says its a date he’ll look forward to.

He often calls their time together dates. Their practices, their forays into town, their late night drinking. It started off as a joke, but Hanzo wonders if both of them have stopped thinking of it that way.

When he’s not managing a few hours of sleep, Hanzo tries to keep his hands busy taking inventory of the cabin. There is not much more than the basic survival supplies: canned food, a cookpot, flint and tinder for the fire, blankets, dry wood. They can melt snow in the pot for more water. A smattering of cutlery lay at the bottom of a drawer ensuring they need not use their fingers to eat. Other than that they have nothing but what they were carrying, more than half their gear scattered under heaps of snow and train debris.

The only other options for entertainment are to watch the dark window or watch McCree. Hanzo wouldn’t say that McCree sleeps so much as passes out. Perhaps Genji is right, that this sleep will help him heal and spare him hours of pain. The way he moves suggests otherwise. Even in his sleep his muscles shift the blankets like McCree is incapable of finding a position that isn’t unbearable. If Hanzo sleeps poorly, McCree’s is much worse.

In the morning they rouse McCree enough to get food down his throat. After the first painful swallow, each bite requires more coaxing than the last. “Fuck,” he gasps once he has a third of the can of beans down. “Fuck, I can’t, I can’t, please, it feels like a knife--”

“Okay,” Hanzo says, pulling back and handing Genji what’s left. “Okay. That is enough. You did well.”

McCree sucks in air like he’s ran a marathon. Hanzo’s worries grow.

 

\---

 

By that afternoon the storm worsens.

Hanzo is not accustomed to mild snowstorms, much less severe blizzards. In his travels he made a point of avoiding extreme weather and climates. Dexterity is too important for his line of work to risk missing a shot due to stiff fingers. As such, he really doesn’t have much of a barometer for the severity of a storm like this. He just knows that now the wind howls like a pack of wolves and their single room shudders with each hard gust. Every creak of the wood has Hanzo looking up, wondering if their roof is going to cave in.

“What if the beacon is blown away?” Hanzo asks as he and Genji stand by the window by the door. There is nothing to see but blowing gray and white snow, but Hanzo has been sitting all day and has grown restless. Restless and anxious.

“The signal has already been sent,” Genji replies. He’s eating his way through a can of carrots. Hanzo cannot recall Genji ever voluntarily eating carrots in his life. “Even if the beacon falls or is buried, they already know our position.”

“Athena could have not gotten it.” 

Genji shakes his head. “Not with the way the beacon is tapped into the system. She got it.”

“But what if--”

“Hey.” An insistent hand on his shoulder forces Hanzo to turn away from the window. Genji’s smile offers some small amount of reassurance. “She got it. They are coming.”

Hanzo sighs, nodding, and tries to relax his shoulders. “You are right. I apologize. This is...difficult.”

Genji tilts his head. “What part?”

“I am unused to dealing with injuries that are not my own. Seeing someone--seeing him hurt like this…” Hanzo trails off, unsure how to finish. His words are true, in their way. He is unused to being the one people rely on for medical aid, but it is not the first time. It has never felt this serious, though. Something about it being McCree distresses him more than he’d care to admit. “I feel helpless.”

“I as well,” Genji agrees, nudging his shoulder into Hanzo’s. “We are doing everything we can for him. McCree is strong and has pulled out of worse. We just have to be patient.”

Hanzo looks over at the bed where their companion lays. McCree has his head turned toward the fire but does not appear to be actually watching it, eyes dull and listless. He clears his throat and the motion has him squeezing his eyes shut and turning away from the light.

 

\---

 

At first Hanzo thinks its the crackling of the fire that rouses him. It takes the noise repeating, a deep, grating, wet sound that has no business being in their warm, dry cabin, for Hanzo to push up on his elbow.

Genji is bent over McCree and speaking in low tones, trying to get him to drink more water. Even with Genji’s help the cowboy chokes. He turns his head away to cough, and the jagged force of it has Hanzo on his feet. Genji glances over his shoulder at Hanzo and sighs. “You need to sleep.”

Hanzo ignores the question. “What is wrong?”

“Just a tickle in my throat,” McCree says, voice less smooth drawl and more croak.

Even those few words has him coughing and the first spasm makes Hanzo’s hands jerk toward him as if to help. The sound is sharp and wet and painful to listen to, like something loose is rattling around in McCree’s lungs. And he can tell McCree is trying to repress the urge because every cough jars his ribcage and sends a bolt of agony through his body. “How long has he been like this?”

“A couple of hours.”

“And you did not wake me?” Hanzo snaps.

Genji glares back at him. “Like I said, you need to sleep.”

“Taking care of him is more important!”

“It will do us no good if we all get sick from exhaustion! Who will take care of him then?”

After the subdued talk of the past two days, their outburst leaves a loud silence in its wake, McCree’s rattling breaths filling the space between them. Hanzo’s defiant stare softens. He looks down at the exposed skin of McCree’s throat and how it works to swallow at nothing. “I apologize, Genji. That was…”

“We are stressed,” Genji replies. Hanzo can hear the forgiveness. “Think nothing of it.”

“That might be the fastest I’ve ever seen you two make up,” McCree rasps. “Damn touchin’.”

The tension breaks, and Hanzo and Genji each huffing a laugh in exasperation. “I told you to stop talking,” Hanzo says. McCree gives a half-hearted salute but shies away when Genji tries to hand him the canteen again. “You need to stay hydrated, McCree. You have not been drinking nearly enough.” McCree opens his mouth to protest but Hanzo presses three fingers to his mouth. “I said, no talking.”

McCree makes a face like Hanzo will be in for an earful once this is all over. Hanzo just smiles, standing watch until McCree forces half the canteen down. He tries not to think about how soft McCree’s lips were against his fingers.

 

\---

 

Once the coughing starts, McCree seems unable to stop.

Every breath aggravates his lungs a little more. McCree’s attempts to suppress the reflex only go so far, only make each coughing fit worse. Every fit grinds his broken ribs like an axe, leaving him that much weaker, gasping for breath. And the cycle begins again.

They have to fight to get him to drink more water. He only manages a few bites of food before pushing the can away. As much as they plead with him to eat more, they can’t blame him for refusing. They try anyway.

Hanzo no longer has to tell McCree not to speak. It hurts too much.

 

\---

 

Sometime around midnight Hanzo nods off, head bobbing down then up as he jerks awake. He’s been sitting with his back against the bed frame for hours and he can certainly feel it. He lets a hard yawn take him and stretches before taking stock of the room. Genji sleeps curled on the couch under a thin blanket, one of his arms flung over the side, his fingers curled against the wood floor. The window is a dark square against the far wall. The fire is in need of another log. 

Something feels off.

He turns his head, takes one look, and lurches to his feet. 

McCree is shivering in the blankets hard enough that his teeth chatter. His good hand is clenched on the edge of the blankets like he might shake off the bed without the anchor. “McCree?” Hanzo pushes the hair out of McCree’s face and finds it sticky with sweat. The man is unconscious, and when Hanzo touches his forehead the skin is far too warm. “McCree? Jesse?”

“What is wrong?” Genji asks, rolling up off the couch and stumbling over in his grogginess.

“He has a fever. Get some more water.” Hanzo tries to rouse McCree and manages to get the other man’s eyes open by the time Genji fetches the canteen. “Jesse, you’re feverish. We need to get more water in you.”

McCree makes a soft noise of dissent, but Hanzo doesn’t plan on taking no for an answer. He brings the canteen to McCree’s lips and tips it slowly, trickling water in small doses, not caring if he spills any. Even if some ends up on McCree’s chin and down to his chest, it might help cool him down. The whole while he continues to tremble, and once Hanzo is satisfied McCree only manages to get out one word: “Cold.”

His initial reaction is to question how McCree could possibly be cold. Genji says as much, shaking his head in disbelief. “I know,” Hanzo says, trying for gentle and hoping he doesn’t sound lost. “I know you feel cold, but your temperature is too high. We have to cool you down.”

They take off each layer of blankets, the bottom two damp. McCree’s clothes are soaked through, as is the blanket they used to wrap his ribs. Hanzo briefly considers leaving them, but lying in wet filth can’t possibly be helping him heal. This time Genji helps hold McCree steady while Hanzo works his clothing off. An exhausted, delirious part of Hanzo’s mind thinks that of all the ways he has entertained of stripping McCree, this was not one he ever considered. Once down to his underwear, he carefully removes the chest wrappings and wipes McCree of sweat, paying careful attention to make sure he is as dry as possible before shredding a second blanket and starting anew. He’ll sweat through these in a few hours, but for now this will help.

The whole while McCree coughs and shakes while watching Hanzo work with half-lidded eyes. The only other noise he makes is a pathetic whimper that sneaks out when Hanzo tightens the wrapping over the blackest part of his ribcage. His head falls forward and tears escape out of his eyes. “I am sorry,” Hanzo murmurs, willing his hands to stay steady as he ties the blanket in place. He repeats the apology when he’s done, cupping McCree’s overgrown beard in one hand and rubbing at his shoulder consolingly with the other. 

McCree says nothing, just tilts his head into Hanzo’s hold and closes his eyes. 

 

\---

 

“His breathing is getting worse.”

“I know.”

“Do you think it’s his ribs? Or whatever else is wrong with him?”

“Both.”

There’s a long pause. “What can we do?”

Hanzo shakes his head. He doesn’t know.

Time moves at a crawl. Hanzo thinks that the weak gray light coming through the window means it’s late afternoon, but he isn’t sure anymore. He’s long since learned to tune out the sound of the wind. With nothing to do but worry, they’ve dragged the couch closer and taken up vigil at McCree’s bedside. Neither of them have spoken above a whisper in hours. The room feels too heavy for anything more.

Genji clasps his hands between his knees and draws a breath, considering. Then he says them. “Do you think he is going to--”

“No.” The tone brooks no argument, jaw clenched tight against the very thought. “No. Do not even think it. It is not an option.” Hanzo has to press his fist against his mouth to keep quiet, to keep everything from pouring out.

His brother may like to push, but Genji seems to know to let this go. Now is not the time. “Do you remember what we were talking about, on the train?”

“I...which part?” Hanzo frowns, trying to recall. Everything that happened that day, everything from before the crash, seems a hundred years ago.

“Once we were back in the cabin. About vacation.”

Ah. He remembers now. “The grand trip.”

“A proper vacation.” Genji nods towards McCree. “He said he has heard so much about Hanamura and Nepal over the years from the two of us, it is about time he saw it for himself.”

“Even though we told him going to our home was a bad idea,” Hanzo adds. “That it would be asking for trouble.”

Genji leans over to bump his shoulder against Hanzo’s, just as McCree had done in the train car, and whispers all conspiratory, “‘But you know how much I love trouble.’”

A smile sneaks onto Hanzo’s face. “He does love trouble.”

“Bet he would give the guards at the castle a hard time,” Genji says, and they both chuckle.

“They would not know what to do with him,” Hanzo says. He looks up at McCree’s sleeping visage, sweaty and sallow and so unlike himself. “I told him I would have to see Santa Fe. It is only fair. And he said--” Hanzo swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “He said, ‘It’s a date.’ I should have said yes.”

If Genji is surprised by Hanzo’s feelings for McCree, he doesn’t show it. Hanzo expects him to make a joke, or continue the story, but he says nothing. For some reason that silence is what breaks him. Hanzo covers his face with one hand as he feels the wave push up from his chest and crest, overwhelming his control. Genji’s hand settles in a comforting weight against his back. “Brother…”

“I should have said so many things,” Hanzo says, looking over at Genji with tears in his eyes, unsurprised to find the same in Genji’s. “I had so many chances and I did not--why did I--?”

“Being with someone, relationships, it has never been easy for either of you.”

“Everyone loves him and he loves everyone--”

“Not like this.” Genji squeezes Hanzo’s shoulder, shakes him for emphasis. “Not like you. And not the way you love him.”

Hanzo is too tired for denials. “He makes it easy.” The tears spill over, hot trails down his cheeks, too much. “I am scared, Genji.”

“Me too.”

 

\---

 

Genji falls asleep curled on the far end of the sofa. They ran out of words some time ago. Left on his own, Hanzo has taken to watching McCree breathe, noting the rise and fall of his chest and searching for any changes. The rhythm should lull him to slumber but he is beyond sleep now. This is a vigil he cannot fail.

At three in the morning, McCree’s breathing goes tight.

Hanzo sits up at the sudden change and the surge of terror it brings. Each breath sounds pushed through a straw, squeezed and strangled, enough to rouse McCree to consciousness. In a daze, his eyes cast about the room, unseeing, panicked, searching for help. “Jesse? It is Hanzo, I am here with you.” Hanzo takes hold of McCree’s good hand and feels a feeble squeeze in reply. His free hand presses two fingers to Jesse’s throat. Pulse racing. “Can you hear me?”

McCree meets his gaze. He manages a nod. Even with the overwhelming pain and fatigue, Hanzo can see McCree still in there. Scared, but there. 

There are hard limits to Hanzo’s medical knowledge, but he does not plan on letting that stop him now. McCree cannot breathe enough. Hanzo cannot do anything about the sickness, but broken bones he can understand. They’re not stable, even with the wrappings. Maybe they are pressing down on his lungs? “I am going to sit you up,” Hanzo says, pulling some of the blankets back so they will not bunch up. “It will not be for long.”

McCree doesn’t have the strength left to help. Good thing Hanzo can manage. He gets McCree vertical enough so that Hanzo can slip in the space between him and the headboard, then gently shifts McCree back until he is leaning against Hanzo’s chest. Just that much adjustment makes the whistling noise from McCree’s abdomen ease. The blankets get dragged back up around them both and Hanzo tucks McCree in tight. His tattooed arm wraps around McCree’s middle so he can press his broad palm over McCree’s chest. “Relax. Breathe along with me.”

Hanzo can feel McCree’s heart racing and his lungs struggling beneath his palm. He sets the pace, slow and steady, breathing deeper than when he meditates. His hand guides McCree along. McCree leans into it, fitting his back to Hanzo’s chest, letting Hanzo take his weight completely. “Like that,” Hanzo murmurs. “Just like that, Jesse. I have you.”

McCree’s head tips against Hanzo’s shoulder, under his chin, where he slips into a state between sleep and wakefulness. The panic never quite passes. Each time it rears up Hanzo is there to talk him through it, soft words whispered into the damp hairs at McCree’s temple. Each time Hanzo holds him a little closer, a little tighter. Unwilling to let McCree slip through his fingers.

“I have you.”

 

\---

 

Daybreak brings the roar of the Orca’s engines overhead. Genji opens the door for them, golden sunlight chasing the rescue team into the room. Lúcio has to help Hanzo let go, his fingers locked in place from holding desperately to McCree for hours. Zarya and Reinhardt are there to help Angela load McCree onto a stretcher and carry him out of the cabin. The walk to the ship saps the last reserves of Hanzo’s energy. No matter how hard he fights, his body decides to shut down. The last thing he sees is Angela cutting the wrappings away from McCree’s chest. Then Hanzo slips into blissful, blank darkness.

 

\---

 

“You are sure he is going to be okay?”

Angela laughs, more than a little exasperated. “Yes. Just as I said the last five times you asked.” She pulls back to look Hanzo in the eye. “He has four broken ribs, a bruised lung, a bruised spleen, throat inflammation, and pneumonia. He’s going to be fine. Now let me finish.”

She goes back to the task of checking his eyes, flicking a pin light back and forth while he stares forward. “He went four days without medical care,” Hanzo argues, blinking away the spots in his eyes once she’s finished.

Her smile softens as she makes a note on her tablet. “No, he didn’t.” She looks up at him. “You and Genji got him out of the wreckage and out of the elements. You kept him from getting frostbite or hypothermia. You bound his ribs to keep them from puncturing his lungs. You made sure he got as much nutrition as you could and kept him hydrated. You managed to break his fever before we got there. You got him  _ home _ .” Going back to his chart, she shakes her head. “Considering what you had to work with, I think you did just fine, Agent Shimada.”

A gentle knock sounds at the door then Genji comes in without waiting for permission. “I brought you some clothes,” he says, holding up a bundle of cloth that Hanzo recognizes as some of his workout gear. “Am I interrupting?”

“Nope! He’s all set.” To Hanzo she says, “You’re on medical standby for ten days. Make sure to take some vitamins over the next week. The stress you were under lowered your immune system; I’d rather you not get sick now after everything else.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Hanzo grabs at the clothes Genji hands him as soon as he can, eager to get changed into something clean. He wants to get dressed and out of this room. The insistent worry in his gut won’t end until he can lay eyes on McCree himself. He starts stripping as soon as Angela shuts the door, and Genji politely turns his back to his brother. “Have you seen him?”

“I have,” Genji says.

“And? How did he look?”

Genji snorts, a sound that never quite sounds right coming from his cybernetic helmet. “A lot better than the last time we saw him. He’s already arguing with Angie about being let loose.”

“You cannot be serious.” His head doesn’t go through his shirt quite right and he has to yank until he pops through the hole, his loose hair frizzing out with static. “He could have died.”

“But he did not. And you know how he is. It is a wonder we kept him immobile even with the broken ribs.” Genji turns when he thinks enough time has passed, glad to see Hanzo has his sweatpants pulled up. “Besides, once you talk to him, maybe you can convince him to stay in bed. You know, for less-than-medical reasons.”

Hanzo’s cheeks flush pink while he grabs a hair tie and tries to get his hair under some kind of control. It feels stiff under his fingers; he really needs a shower. “Can I not at least wait until he is out of the infirmary before baring my heart?”

Genji tilts his head and hums. “No, I do not think that is going to work.”

“Why not?”

“Because it has probably taken him this long to hobble across the infirmary to your room.” Hanzo whirls around in panic just in time to see Genji open the door, and there on the other side is McCree.

McCree. Alive, standing barefoot--correction, bare-legged, wearing nothing but a hospital gown and clutching a wheeled IV stand like a walking staff. Beard wild, face thin, hair limp and scraggly, but  _ alive _ . Alive with a fierce expression locked onto Hanzo.

Genji excuses himself and shuts the door, leaving them staring at each other. This is where Hanzo should speak. He should breach the silence, ask McCree how he feels, say hello, anything but mutely stare back. He opens his mouth to do so but nothing comes out. All he can think of is the sheer relief of seeing McCree again.

Then McCree is striding toward him as best he can while dragging an IV. “Jesse, what--mm!”

McCree grabs Hanzo’s face in both hands and crashes their mouths together. The force is bruising. It takes Hanzo by complete surprise, and just as the shock wears off McCree retreats. “I couldn’t wait,” he says, and Hanzo’s heart soars to hear that heavy drawl. “We’ve been dancin’ around this for ages, and we ‘bout died, and then I ‘bout died again, and I couldn’t talk and you wouldn’t  _ let  _ me talk, but all I been thinkin’ about is how I’d never get to see you again, or say anythin’, and how stupid I’d been for bein’ afraid, and--”

The second kiss is much better, even if McCree speaks a few more words against Hanzo’s mouth before settling into it. Now it’s Hanzo’s turn to hold McCree’s face, to tilt his chin so their mouths align just so, to suck McCree’s bottom lip between his own and run his tongue over the chapped skin. This one lasts a lot longer than the first kiss, too, and their faces stay tucked close together when it ends. Hanzo pants hot against McCree’s mouth. “You saved me an embarrassing confession,” he admits.

Hanzo thinks he missed McCree’s smile more than anything. Seeing it now feels like the warmest summer day. “Well, you saved my life, seems only fair.”

“I did not save your life,” Hanzo argues. “You are not doing this because--”

“We both know that ain’t true.” McCree drags his lips up Hanzo’s nose and presses a kiss to his forehead, nuzzles his temple. “I been sweet on you longer than this.”

“So have I.” Hanzo starts to wrap his arms around McCree’s chest but hesitates, looks up at him. “Should I not? Are you in pain?”

“You’ve been holdin’ me together all week, don’t stop now,” McCree jokes, bringing their bodies together. The contact is enough to make Hanzo cry again. He thinks McCree knows, pressing another strong kiss to Hanzo’s hairline and holding on. That last knot of worry untwists inside. Hanzo buries his face in McCree’s shoulder and just breathes.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like that and want more, want to check out my art, or just want to chat, come on by my tumblr! You can find me under username wyntera. And if twitter is more your game, come and join me there, just look for @ThreeCatDesigns.
> 
> And hey. Thanks.


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